


brand new scars

by psikeval



Series: find some peace inside yourself; lay down your heavy load [4]
Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: M/M, Masturbation, Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-30
Updated: 2016-01-30
Packaged: 2018-05-17 03:09:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,175
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5851738
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/psikeval/pseuds/psikeval
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Even in solitude, he is surrounded.</p>
            </blockquote>





	brand new scars

 

When Lafayette finally collapses in his tent that evening, he feels half-asleep already but not the slightest bit relaxed, sore and irritable from a long day of riding and keeping the troops in line. Three thousand men is more than he’s yet been called to manage for such a length of time, even with command shared between him and General Greene, and they’ll still be going a long way before they reach Rhode Island.

After a few minutes sprawled fully dressed, wondering distantly if he could fall asleep like this, Lafayette sits up enough to shed his coat and shirt, setting them aside. His boots are kicked to one corner, which is all the effort he feels like expending before falling heavily back on the familiar lumps of his bedroll. Perhaps they’ll have some effect on the knots in his shoulders.

There’s this niggling worry lodged in the back of his mind, Lafayette’s least favorite part of command: the feeling that somewhere there is something he’s forgotten, no matter how many times he’s gone over it all. He sighs, tugs loose the ribbon holding back his hair and is shifting his hips, trying to get comfortable, when the thought crosses his mind. He could.

Well, he could try.

Figuring he might as well, he reaches down and rubs at his crotch without a great deal of conviction; there have been a great many nights when exhaustion leaves his body too tired to respond, and his mind too weary to persist. It’s only that it would be nice, after such a long day, to feel something good at the end of it.

Lafayette drops his head back, shuts his eyes and takes a deep, slow breath. If he can just manage to cast his thoughts elsewhere, ignore the intrusive sounds and smells of the soldiers’ camp outside his tent.

The easiest solution would be falling back into memories, precious and fresh, still shining-new for how little he lets himself handle them. But he tries not to think of Mulligan at times like this, no matter how much he’s tempted. The loneliness that follows is too high a price to pay.

Part of him knows it’s a losing battle, when he’s just stripped off the shirt Hercules made him, shoved down the carefully tailored trousers — when his hand twists just right around his cock, his toes curl in the socks Mulligan gave him. Even in solitude, Lafayette is surrounded.

His mind settles, of all things, on the sensation of Mulligan kissing his neck, soft swollen lips brushing over his skin, parting, the low contented sounds Mulligan made while gently sucking bruises onto Lafayette—how he’d held onto those broad shoulders and all but begged for more.

That’s all it takes, as it turns out. Lafayette looks down to find his cock obediently swelling up and twitching against his belly, listing ever so slightly toward the line of his left hipbone. A choked, shivering sound, not quite a laugh, escapes him at how damned easy he is for the smallest memory of being touched.

 _Ah, well_ , he supposes. _Whatever gets the job done_.

He licks his hand until his palm and fingers are wet enough and hisses softly through his teeth when he takes hold of his cock again. He’s almost fully hard now, and keeps his grip tight, fucking in quick thrusts into his spit-wet fingers until he can feel his cock leaking, presses with his thumb and spreads the slickness around the swollen head. (Fuck, that feels good—he lingers, rubbing firm little circles until his cock jerks and drips on his belly and the tease is too much.) Lafayette messily wets his palm again, tastes precome on his skin and nearly groans aloud. He remembers being crouched between Mulligan’s knees, sucking at his cock, how it spread his jaw almost painfully wide and he’d _loved_ that—

 _There,_ he thinks, pleasure and sheer relief as his hips jerk involuntarily. Lafayette bites his lip and strokes himself faster, the rhythm slightly off the more he squirms into his own touch, too far gone now to care if he’s a little clumsy. Mulligan’s hands—touching his wrists, fastening his shirt before they said goodbye—the stab of sadness is so sudden that the edge of arousal recedes, his focus broken, and he groans, miserable and far too loud.

The pathetic ache of Lafayette’s heart, the unbearable frustration of failing at something so _simple_ , tempt him to give up then and there. But he’s gotten this far, and is grimly determined not to give up now. Eyes closed, take a breath. Try again.

Surely he can keep his mind to pleasant things. Being kissed, the slow tease of Mulligan’s tongue in his mouth. The night he’d been on his hands and knees, caressed like something precious even while he was fucked, and coaxed Hercules into pulling his hair. The fantasy he’d had, listening to Hercules with his customers, of being held up against the wall and taken apart the moment they left—Hercules would fill him up so well, he’d be so loud, he’d—

“ _Please_.” He barely breathes the word, half to himself and half to a man too far away to hear.

There’s a moment he’s afraid he’s lost it again, that he’ll just keep trying and it won’t ever _end_ —and then it hits him, hips bucking off the ground, straining up as if for a touch, as he comes, unable to mind the mess he’s made of himself when the stickiness warm on his skin only makes him think of Hercules and _god,_ he wants to be fucked, wants more than this.

He strokes his slowly softening cock even when the rest of him is slack and still, until he has to hold back a whine and force himself to stop. It’s easier—and so much worse—if he pictures Mulligan pinning his hands and kissing him quiet, making him subside.

Despite the loose and blissful feeling in his limbs, Lafayette’s jaw is clenched, trying not to ruin this with thoughts of what it isn’t. He reaches over to his sad small heap of belongings and wipes himself up with a handkerchief he can wash tomorrow, before they break camp.

He feels bereft in the stupidest way, the warm summer air around him suddenly so very empty and cold. With painful clarity he can remember how Mulligan always held onto him, coaxing him down, wiping him clean and petting him, pressing kisses against his skin. (“ _Good,”_ he’d murmured into Lafayette’s neck the second time, when he was wrapped around Lafayette from behind, stroking his thighs while Lafayette’s cock went soft and he could feel their pounding heartbeats down to his fingertips. “ _God, that was good, you’re so beautiful._ ”)

Now he wraps a blanket too tightly around himself and curls up, trying not to feel the absence of warmth at his back. With just as little success, he tries to believe that it won’t matter so much in the morning.

There’s a long night ahead of him.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> i can be found crying on [tumblr](http://psikeval.tumblr.com)


End file.
